Regale, Rhea - Wild Hunts [Blood Moon Legacy 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Rhea Regale

  Slade pulled out of her, leaving her empty and cold. He rolled off her back and lowered himself beside Micah. Gently, he pulled her against him, her back to his front. Micah shifted onto his side, his arm wedged beneath her head. Heat permeated the air around her. The heady scent of spent semen and her musk lent a thick, sensual aroma to the room. The basic scents that were raw male and female, earthiness with a touch of sweetness, lulled her fatigued mind. Within moments, her body relaxed completely, sated for the time being. Powder blue eyes watched her as she fought to remain awake. She was tired. The stress of last night, the anxiety mounting throughout the day, the anticipation of a hunt, the out-of-this-world sex she just had…it left her exhausted.

  Slade kissed her temple. She barely had the strength to turn her head enough to catch his dark gaze. A small grin played along his sensuous mouth.

  “Sleep, sweetheart. You’re safe with us.” He kissed her forehead before settling down behind her again. His arm tightened around her waist, fitting her rear against his hips. Micah traced her brow, trailed his finger down to trace her swollen lips. In those short, silent moments, she realized what she caught a glimpse of before.

  Admiration. And something much, much more sacred.

  She nuzzled her head into the crook of his arm and slipped her arm around his broad chest. His skin was feverish and firm, just like Slade’s, and her delicate figure was perfectly tucked between them both.

  “Right where you belong, little love. Always and forever,” Micah cooed as her eyes drifted close.

  Chapter Ten

  Micah had no intentions of dozing off. Tonight, of all nights, he let his better self get carried away.

  The piercing howl, followed shortly by a second howl, jolted him from slumber. He stared at the ceiling of Kasa’s bedroom for a long moment, waiting for sleep to subside. His fingers tingled. He looked down to find Kasa pressed like a precious gift against his side. Her head lay on his bicep, but Slade’s head cut off the circulation of blood from his forearm down.

  Another howl split through the wind gusts that caused the small cabin to creak. He managed to release his arm from beneath his brother and Kasa without waking either of them.

  “Jordan, you out there already?” he called. Static filled his mind with an inaudible response. He lifted Kasa’s arm, still tucked around his chest, and kissed the tips of her fingers before easing them to the bed. She sighed and turned, taking to hugging his brother without waking. Good. If he had to look into her eyes because she woke, it would be hell leaving the cabin.

  Decades had come and gone, chilling his emotions until he cared little beyond his family. After Reiny’s murder, that small flicker of humanity smothered to a single ember beneath all his rage. He’d waited too damn long for his mate, for these frozen feelings that seeped out of the cold void in his heart. He’d waited too long for that solitary ember to be fanned back from the brink of extinction.

  He vowed never to let anything happen to Kasa. She’d become the very force that could sustain him, show him how to be human again.

  Micah climbed out of bed, careful not to jostle the mattress. He slid out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  “Jordan, where’re you at?”

  “Rebel pack’s breached our territory. They’re slinking through the storm.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  Micah hurried out of the cabin and transformed once he secured the front door.

  “How close? Where are you?”

  “Prowling the forest about a hundred yards out from my cabin. Where the hell have you been?” After a short pause, Jordan groaned. “Hell, don’t tell me. Should’ve known.”

  “You might want to know your sister tried running out to hunt tonight. Apparently, your man Luke has a loose tongue when it comes to his mate.” Micah bounded into the forest, ignoring the sting of snowflakes as they hit his eyes. He snorted, swatted his nose, and finally caught onto Jordan’s faint trail. The storm was wreaking havoc with all scents, powdery snow covering paths and distorting tracks.

  “I’ll be sure to address that once we’ve taken control of these rabid dogs.”

  “I’d suggest so. Next time I catch my mate climbing out her window like a fugitive because our secret plan happened to be not so secret, I’ll be picking bones with him myself.” Micah snarled, skating between two close tree trunks. “I don’t mean that figuratively, either.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Coming up behind you.”

  Micah caught the obscured contrast of colors a short distance ahead of him. The white snow was a disadvantage to Jordan and his pack. The gray-and-whites appeared to have the easiest time blending in with their surroundings.

  As for himself, he liked his black coat and had no problem standing out. Let some pack of rebels try and take him down. Adrenaline fed the furious pumping of blood through his wolfen body. He craved a challenging fight tonight.

  Then he’d get back to Kasa with a little more ease in his stride.

  He pressed forward, slowing down to a trot. Wolves bayed close by, bringing him to an abrupt halt. He stood, rock still, ears perked up. He listened carefully to the cries of the rebels. One came from straight ahead, far in the distance. Some came from his right, some from his left.

  “They’ve got our position locked down. They’re surrounding us,” Micah informed.

  “What makes you think that?” Jordan asked.

  “Like to tell me how the hell you’ve survived this long if you can’t even answer your own damn question? Aren’t you listening?”

  Micah lowered himself to the ground. The snow reached his elbows and the rapidly increasing depth covered a good portion of his body. Everything might be covered in thick white, but shadows still lurked in the forest. It may be enough to provide a good cover for him.

  The howling increased, slashing through the blustery winds. They were closing in around them. The wind shifted, snow swirling in no clear direction. The harder Micah tried to latch onto the enemy’s scents, the more elusive they became. One thing was certain: Within moments, the rebels would have them trapped in a ring if they didn’t move, and fast.

  The only way to break free would be to break up.

  His heart quickened. Déjà vu side slapped him. The last time he suggested a split, Reiny was killed.

  There was no other way.

  “Jordan, we need to split up. In groups. No one go alone. We’ve no idea how many are approaching, but we’re omegas sitting here, waiting for Fate to roll the dice. They’ll have strength in numbers if we’re corralled.”

  “And they won’t if we split?” Jordan asked skeptically. Micah cocked his head, tipping his snout into the wind. Three different scents collided with him, none of which he was familiar with.

  “Live up to your reputation. It’s easier to handle a handful of wolves between two or three of you than an entire pack who has the upper hand.”

  “Then get your fucking ass over here and let’s split.”

  “You split. I’m going solo.”

  “Micah…”

  The growl that shook the telepathic line made him smile. He began his crawl through the snow drifts created by the forest’s terrain, creeping at a painstaking pace. He needed to find the perimeter of the encroaching pack, slip through it, and come at them from behind.

  “Listen, don’t be a stubborn fool if you get in a jam. Let me know and I’ll be right there. Don’t you think to put Kasa through any torment trying to be a hero,” Micah warned. “Or you’ll be dealing with me.”

  “For a moment there, I thought I detected some sentiment. Then you finished what you were saying.” A chuckle. “Man, you’ve got some serious issues.”

  “From what my mate has told me, we’re like two pups from the same litter, you and I. Takes one to know one.”

  Close by, snow compacted beneath weight, drawing on his attention. He crept between a grouping of trees and slowly lifted his head. Snow masked his dark snout and most of his head,
camouflaging him. He gazed around, sniffing the air for telltale signs of danger. The storm carried a disturbing zing of restrained adrenaline and blood thirst, no fear. His hackles rose. He forced himself to remain calm. Assessing his prey was first and foremost. He needed to find out how many he’d be taking on alone and gauge his timing correctly to prevent them from alerting the rest of their pack.

  One step. Two steps. Three steps. The soft crush of snow followed a distinct rhythm. There were no other noises that disrupted the prowling wolf’s pace. This one was alone, an easy conquer.

  A moment later, Micah spotted the wolf stalking the forest a few dozen feet ahead of him. The bulky brown coat stood out against the stark white snow. His ears were tipped back, eyes squinted against the wind. Micah waited until his prey passed his hiding spot before slinking around a cluster of rocks and following the rebel in his path.

  Certain there were no other wolves approaching the lonesome fool, Micah picked up his pace. Within seconds, he was at the wolf’s back, the wind matting down his fur, keeping his scent at bay. He leaped forward, front paws outstretched. The wolf didn’t react until it was too late. Micah’s sharp claws hooked into his shoulders, his teeth into his throat, as they crashed down on their sides. He didn’t use this one to ask questions. He tore into his prey, leaving him to bleed out, staining the virgin white landscape with crimson red. A few breaths later, the wolf’s heart stuttered to a halt, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest stopped with a shudder. The first sign of death—an acrid tinge in the air—filled his lungs, and he hurried off, hunting his next victim.

  The wind continued to blow, snow falling in thick sheets. Visibility lessened with each minute, but scents abounded. Micah retreated, hoping to come outside the circling wolves. He knew the moment he reached a prime spot when several different scents filled his nostrils and slid over his tongue. An unnerving toxin finally made his hackles rise. Blood rushed through the length of him, hot and furious. How many pack members did Dark Moon have in the vicinity? More importantly, how many were reprogrammed weres who posed more threat to them than a regular were?

  Micah’s nostrils flared, taking in as many scents as possible. He filtered out the crisp, clean fragrance of the snow, the frozen trees, and the spiced spruces. Two, three, four. Hell, six or seven different wolf scents rode the wind.

  The odds weren’t favorable. Jordan had an army of eight in Trout Lake. Seven rebels were approaching from this side alone. How many more were there?

  A series of grunts and snarls filled his mind, plaguing the telepathic link between him and Jordan’s pack. Shortly after, barks and growls found their path to his ears via the wind.

  “We’re engaged. Four wolves against Luke and me,” Jordan informed. Micah’s jowls quivered, his mouth watering in anticipation of impending bloodshed. He pressed ahead, hunting those who planned to hunt this evening.

  “Coming up behind a group stalking you and your boys,” Micah said. The beast in him chuckled with sadistic pleasure as he caught the first of his prey. “This is gonna be fun.”

  He tuned out Jordan’s scowling comment and crept up behind the prowling wolf. To his right, he caught a quick streak of darkness through the thick snow. Another wolf. He licked his lips. Instinct swelled within him, drowning out his human conscience. So easy, slipping from man to beast. So easy, getting lost in the wild spirit. At some point, he had to keep one of the rebels alive for questioning. One of these bastards would be granted a pardon, if only for a few hours.

  Micah padded closer. He launched forward, plowing his massive weight into the unsuspecting wolf, knocking him onto his side. Snow sprayed. The wolf snarled. Micah dove onto the rebel, lodging his rear paw and sharp claws into the bastard’s belly while pinning his shoulders down with the rest of his weight. The wolf snapped at him, white teeth matching the snow. Micah snapped back, viciously tearing his teeth over the wolf’s cheek.

  “How many were sent here tonight?” Micah demanded. The wolf snorted, wriggling beneath his hold. Micah pressed his claws deeper into his belly. Flesh tore. Blood scented the clean air. The wolf whimpered, desperate to squirm out from under him.

  He remained stubbornly silent.

  “How many!”

  Nothing. Micah growled and sank his teeth into the restless wolf’s throat. He barely had time to pull away before two more wolves came flying through the air, front paws outstretched to him.

  The fun begins.

  Primitive instinct swallowed him. He plunged into his wolfen self, hungry to destroy his enemies. Their foul odors and evil air made his skin crawl. The lethal fighter lodged in his spirit rushed forth.

  Micah dropped low. The first wolf overshot him, leaving his vulnerable underside open. Micah snapped up, latching onto the sensitive flesh of the gray’s belly, and tore into him. The wolf yelped, his confident leap crumbling. His body dropped into the snow. Micah jammed his rear paws into the rebel’s chest and heaved the heavy enemy into the closest tree.

  He turned to the second wolf, who had skidded to a stop a few feet away. Jowls pulled back, quivering over bared fangs. Hackles rose along his tan back. Micah rolled to his feet, sparing a quick glance at the dying wolf pouring life essence into the snow. The second wolf struggled to climb to his feet at the base of the tree, short whimpers escaping his mouth.

  “Any more coming? I’m up for it.” Micah mocked the bastard growling at him like a pack alpha. “You fucking dog.”

  The tan wolf lunged. Micah leaped out of his path, spun around, and overpowered the imbecile. He forced the tan to the ground, catching a claw to his hind leg. The sharp pain lasted a split second, overcome by a plaguing rage that left him ruthlessly tearing into the enemy.

  Three down, one ass-planted unknown to go.

  Micah padded over to the gray wolf still unable to make use of his hind legs. He swatted the wolf’s snout, unleashing a series of snorts and sneezes.

  “Look at your two friends behind me. They’ve made a mess of the snow. I left another not far from here.” Micah lowered himself, level with the gray. The wolf finally stopped struggling. He panted, his green eyes misted with hatred. “Do you gamble?”

  Just like the first wolf, this one didn’t answer him. Those eyes pulsed with such disgust Micah could taste it on his tongue.

  “Don’t expend your energy trying to burn a hole in my head, idiot. You might need it to run if you don’t answer me correctly.” Micah tipped his head to the side, surveying his prey’s expression. “More specifically, if you don’t answer me at all.”

  “You’ve broken my fucking back, you fucking bastard.”

  Micah laughed. A sharp bark escaped his wolf’s mouth. The gray growled.

  “I could’ve easily broken your neck. Need reassurance? Look over my shoulder.” Micah licked his fangs, still stained with blood. “They were easy. You’re just a waste of my time. So, don’t waste any more. Tell me how many of you came here tonight, who is leading your pack, what they want, and how they think they’re going to get it.”

  “For what?”

  Micah’s gaze narrowed on this particular wolf. Three dead without as much as a call out. No strange static electric zing to signal telepathic communication on a private link between pack members. If he understood the reprogrammed wolves correctly, they would never buckle beneath an adversary.

  “They didn’t get to you, did they? You’re a new recruit and they’re still turning you.” Micah would’ve laughed again if he found any reassurance in this unsettling discovery. If new recruits were sent out, where were the loyal members? Those so brainwashed they’d rather die in the snow than speak a word to anyone? “Give me what I want and I won’t tear your throat out like your pals over there. Who’s leading the pack?”

  “A female. Some call her Runt. Others call her Sister. The female at the cave calls her Lilia.”

  The gray shook his head, snow flying off his fur. His ears twitched, and he blinked several times. Pain speared across the wolf’s face. Micah nudged
the gray’s snout with his front paw and earned a snarl.

  “Time’s running out, boy. How many of you are there? Do they expect to get the white? You know, this was a failed mission before it left the cave. And speaking of caves, where is this secreted hideaway?”

  “They’ll kill me if I say anything more. I’ve already said enough.”

  Micah straightened onto his paws and came around the gray’s backside. The gray’s eyes never left him. Swallowing a satisfied chuckle, Micah lifted a paw against the gray’s spine. The wolf jerked. Micah moved lower, feeling the spine until he came to a separation that earned him a gratifying howl.

  He stamped down on the wolf’s back at the break. The gray bucked, panting yelps and mewls. Snow kicked up as his front paws dug desperately into the hard ground.

  Micah craned his head forward, baring his teeth. “Now, either you can die by your pack or you’ll die right here by my teeth. Choose one by answering my questions or remaining silent.”

  “Twenty-six of us! The female leads us. Never mentioned the white but said something about the alpha. It’s a trap,” the gray gasped. His eyes went in and out of focus. Micah released the pressure at the rebel’s back and leaned over his downed body. “We came to launch a surprise attack. A scout watched the pack leave the cabin. We decided to surround them and take them out, but we’re not supposed to harm the brown one. He’s to be captured. The cave is a hidden underground hell. They’re tortured, broken down until the female that leads everything begins to rebuild them. Her way. We’re supposed to hate the whites. Kill them all. Anyone who shows allegiance will die.”

  “Where is it?”

  “About two miles from here. There’s a small lake surrounded by large boulders. A narrow pathway leads to what looks like the jagged side of the mountain, but there’s a crevice not deep in that opens to the cave. Several tunnels and chambers make up the interior. Torture chambers.”